


I'm Poppy

by yeaka



Category: That Poppy
Genre: F/F, Gen, Vignette
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-18
Updated: 2017-02-18
Packaged: 2018-09-25 06:10:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 442
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9806648
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka
Summary: Charlotte hears Poppy’s new single.





	

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: Hi. Ao3 categorizes That Poppy as RPF, but this is on Poppy the art project/videos, not the real life girl who plays Poppy. [This is Poppy.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=h9xjxYxhpAw) Poppy loves you. She’s Poppy.
> 
> Disclaimer: I don’t own Poppy/That Poppy or any of her contents, and I’m not making any money off this.

This song is bubbly, happy, saccharine and horrifying. Charlotte feels like she’s being sucked into an alternate dimension. It’s like looking into Poppy’s eyes and seeing only the reflection of the camera. But it’s _good_ , too, and digs into her skull to leave little eggs shaped like music notes. After a mechanical ‘ _camera_ ’ is drawn out in strange pronunciation, there’s a mysterious click like singular paparazzi, and the television turns off, the white lyrics over. Silence reigns.

The silence is jarring. It was safe before, but now it’s conspicuously lacking Poppy’s cheery voice. The ambiance needs to return fast. Poppy asks, “Do you like it?”

Charlotte doesn’t answer. She’s grown good at lying, but it’s difficult when Poppy’s _right beside her_ and smiling so sweetly. The chorus still rings in her head. Poppy chirps, “I like it.” Her look is somehow both expectant and empty.

Charlotte thinks and finally admits, “It is a song.”

Poppy lights up like fireworks, crying, “Oh, thank you!” and opens up her arms to envelop Charlotte in a sudden hug. She’s smaller than Charlotte, softer, _so soft_ , and incredibly warm. She really is a star. She radiates heat and light, and all things gravitate towards and around her. Poppy insists into Charlotte’s curls, “You’re so nice, Charlotte. I love you, Charlotte.” But Poppy says she loves everyone. Even people who stole her songs and leaked them. Sometimes Charlotte wonders if Poppy can remember Yesterday.

Poppy lingers inhumanly long. She keeps Charlotte tight and safe in a thick embrace of sinful feelings, then gently disentangles, straightening back out again, posture straight and white-blond hair combed to perfection. Her eyes are wide, her liner spotless. She exists in pastels, but to Charlotte, she exudes neon. She says, “You are a good friend, Charlotte.”

Are they still friends? Charlotte has half a mind to say they’re _not_ , they’re rivals now, if anyone can ever rival Poppy, but Poppy’s eyes are already sliding away. She turns and trails off the solid block they stand on, disappearing back into the studio.

And Charlotte’s left standing there, the television dead but the noise still trapped under her pseudo-skin. The same few lyrics, simplistic yet oddly inspired, play again and again in her mind. She tells herself she doesn’t want to be like Poppy. She really doesn’t. Even if Poppy’s pretty and perfect and beloved and kind. But it’s just too _catchy_ , so Charlotte whispers to herself, “ _P-O-P-P-Y, I’m Poppy_...”

Only for Poppy to call from around some oblivious corner, “I knew you loved it, Charlotte, thank you!”

Charlotte shouts back, “I do not!” and quickly storms in the other direction.

Plant will understand.


End file.
